Pond Song 4.7

“We do not open ourselves; being opened, we are as an opening.” William Desmond Reader 202

packed snow on the pond path__a duck’s print  hard as a fossil

the mallard roots in the soft bank  __snow on the tip of his bill

something strange this cold Sunday__the grey above an apple tree

bent by snow twists and darkens__a murmur of birds comes to be

shape-shifting continuously__mind-blowing and mind-bestowing

the inner pattern of the flock__the spaces between them flowing

Pong Song 4.6

Much depends on recognizing the more primal affirmative energy of being that cannot be fully described in terms of lack. GB 41

to repeat is to lose appetite__I return because I promised

the pond empties under ice__the tide glitters where it sliced

waters open to blue sky__toxic suds cellophane

where the bufflehead was__peace as it appears again

Pond Song 4.5

A radical origin is absolutely original power bound by nothing. GB 134

world defined by snow glare__white gulls sit on the ice

where the pond is invisibly__for difference their cries suffice

a road marks the horizon__the road collapses distance

being brighter than the rest__the sky’s blue immanence

Pond Song 4.4

“The aesthetic rebirth is intertwined with erotic outreaching.” GB 40

midwinter thaw__sun fuzzy and small

tide high in the snow__expanding circles crawl

across graphite water__the bufflehead elsewhere

overfull emptiness__nothing in the mirror

save the moon-like sun__shaken by the disturbance

made by a mallard couple__green upon brown flash dance